


Lies

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, Community: rounds_of_kink, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why do you do this?” Michael whispers, on the edge of surrender. “You do these things, these thoughtless things, that hurt you and me all because you can’t ask for help and then when I walk away to let you ruin your life on your own, you do this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

Sometimes it feels like Michael lives in a completely different world than his brother.

It was easy to forget, when the weeks passed into a month without contact that they have more in common than the latest crayon drawing of LJ’s or a visit from Veronica. When Michael’s working, and he’s always working, his world is made of his schematics and numbers, plans for the future that will literally be sealed in concrete. The deadlines are an unyielding comfort, always around the corner, breathing down his neck and stressing him to his limits, but a certainty. Michael can disappear in his world and be one in a room full of brilliant people with innovative ideas that constantly push boundaries. One day, he might be so fed up with contractors and managers that he feels like insanity is only one more adjustment away, and then find so much joy in the next day that he’s riding high with purpose. He can’t imagine doing anything else.

Lincoln doesn’t fit into that world. Not really. His brother is everything but consistent.

There’s no warning, for instance, when Lincoln starts a temporary position on the construction crew for a building designed by Michael’s firm. Michael simply shows up to speak to the contractor and Lincoln’s there, neon orange hardhat contrasting sharply with his summer tan and throwing Michael completely off center.

When Michael goes home that night, he can’t work. He can hardly think beyond the early morning moment that he forgot how to speak because Lincoln bumped into his shoulder when he passed by. Hours later, Michael can still remember the smell of Lincoln’s sweat, laced with aftershave and slightly salty from the river. He can remember the playful, dark look that his brother gave him when Michael couldn’t help but watch over his shoulder as Lincoln walked away. The embarrassment of immediately after, when the contractor had to repeat himself twice to jumpstart Michael’s thoughts, is particularly unforgettable.

No, Lincoln, Michael decides as he paces in the darkness of his living room, doesn’t fit anywhere in his neat and comfortable world. Not when one touch can drive Michael’s heart into his throat and send his mind reeling. Something has to be done.

A chance emerges when Michael has to visit the job site once again a few days later. He wraps up his business quickly with a few corrections to the schematics and surreptitiously finds Lincoln. With a glance, Lincoln announces to his co-workers that he needs a smoke and wanders far enough away for Michael’s following to seem arbitrary.

Lincoln gives him a grin and pulls out a cigarette as Michael walks into an unpopulated alcove. The structure is just barely the beginnings of the corner of the building; a concrete ledge overhead throws their long shadows into the dirty alley adjacent.

“Good to see you.” Lincoln says.

Their elbows brush when Lincoln steps closer and Michael blanks on everything he wanted to say. His silence doesn’t deter Lincoln from continuing.

“Was wondering if I would see you since, you know.” Lincoln gestures with his free hand and his fingers snag on Michael’s shirt sleeve.

Michael looks away from the glowing stub hanging from Lincoln’s lips and finds his voice. “What are you doing here?”

He tries not to sound confrontational but he’s on edge. Lincoln’s not supposed to be here, standing so close, boxing him in with small steps further away from the work site and deeper into the alley.

Lincoln’s boot bumps into the tip of Michael’s shoe. Michael looks up to meet a probing stare. Lincoln doesn’t like to be ignored.

“Needed the work.”

Michael asks, “How?”

“Friend of a friend,” Lincoln replies. His tepid breath breezes over Michael’s mouth.

Michael runs his tongue over his lips and imagines that he can taste the coffee Lincoln must have had that morning. He feels flushed under his starched shirt.

Lincoln blows a plume of smoke off to the side, respectful of the space and yet imposing and rude. A contradiction of a contradiction, that’s his brother, Michael thinks. He doesn’t fit. Maybe neither of them does. Not the way they are right now.

“You don’t want me here?”

“It’s been months since I’ve seen you,” Michael explains. “Then you show up here.”

“Did you miss me?” Lincoln asks. He grins like it hurts.

Michael sighs. “I thought that maybe you’d gotten into some kind of trouble.”

“And I thought you were sick of me,” Lincoln retorts. His quicksilver grin disappears as if it were never there. “You said so.”

“I know what I said. I remember.” There’s little more that Michael can say than that. He won’t apologize.

Months ago Lincoln had been desperate for cash and willing to do nearly anything to get it. Michael remembers how enraged he’d been when Lincoln had called him from the police station asking for bail money. He remembers how he’d shrugged off his brother’s apologetic taps, every attempt to get his attention, until they’d entered Lincoln’s apartment and Michael’s anger erupted in the form of biting kisses and finger shaped bruises.

Later, he’d told Lincoln that he didn’t want him around. That he was sick of getting him out of trouble. Even as the words left his lips he knew they weren’t the truth. The ache in his stomach then and now proves how false.

Michael jerks at the weight of Lincoln’s palms on his chest, traveling down from his shoulders. He tries to step away and those hands quickly ball into the fabric of his shirt.

Michael hisses. “Stop it.”

Lincoln’s face is blank as he runs his hands over Michael’s torso and down his slightly ticklish sides to his hips. Michael shudders from the touch and the coldness of his brother’s voice as he says, “You were lying to me. You still are.”

“I’m not,” Michael lies again.

The truth is painful to admit and even in his head Michael shies away from the reality. Once more he tries to slip away but Lincoln with his bulky frame is insistent. Michael would have to struggle and make a scene to get away. He’s still not certain that he wants to and that’s the problem.

“Why do you do this?” Michael whispers, on the edge of surrender. “You do these things, these thoughtless things, that hurt you and me all because you can’t ask for help and then when I walk away to let you ruin your life on your own, you do this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Lincoln’s quiet for a minute and when he looks up from his wandering hands his eyes are shimmering with pain. “If I ever thought that you really meant it, I would.”

“How do you know that I don’t?”

“Because of this,” Lincoln pushes into the muscle right over Michael’s heart.

Michael lifts an eyebrow. “Never took you for a sentimentalist.”

“No,” Lincoln yanks him close and Michael’s reminded again of how little he’s fighting all of this. Of how his body is throbbing at the familiar, forceful, damning touch. He feels pathetic, like nothing more than a rag doll. “It’s this,” Lincoln continues, reading Michael’s reactions as his body telegraphs his every thought. “You can’t lie about it. Don’t even try.”

The delayed flash of anger that stiffens Michael’s spine is welcome. He finally has the courage to push back. Lincoln retreats barely a step. “You just won’t be happy until I’m right down there with you at the bottom. Until you ruin my life too.”

“No,” Lincoln says, “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you do.” Michael's voice wavers. He’s suddenly on the verge of tears and can’t look up. Can’t bear to see Lincoln’s stony face. He can’t bear to hear another apology. Yet it's somehow worse when Lincoln doesn’t say anything at all.

“I lie to you because you lie to me,” Michael snaps. “You won’t take my charity but what you do take is so much worse because…I want to give it to you.”

After a moment of silence, Michael chances a glance up and Lincoln looks solemn, still pained, and Michael hurts because he caused it. They’re both a fucking mess.

A phantom touch on Michael’s chest heralds Lincoln saying, “I know that you don’t want to have anything to do with me but I need you around.” He pulls Michael close and for the first time Michael can feel his brother shivering. “I can’t stay away from you even though I should.”

The admission melts the little resolve Michael has left. They’ve been doing this “thing” for years now and even though Michael knew that the passion, the blind obsession, was mutual, neither of them has admitted to anything involving their twisted otherworldly relationship. He’d like to compare his brother to a battering ram but when Michael thinks of how easily he succumbs he discovers that there’s really been nothing to beat against. Michael’s an open window.

When he comes out of his thoughts, Lincoln’s staring at this mouth. Through the shadows Michael can see the dark shallows under his brother’s eyes, the tight lines on his forehead and around his lips. He wonders if the sleeplessness of last night - and so many more like it - has marked the same longing into his skin.

Yet Lincoln seems like he’s regained his confidence when he mutters, “Next time you want me around, promise that you’ll lie to me.”

Before Michael can ask what he means Lincoln’s calloused hands frame his face and pull him into a collision course with his mouth. Heat, moist and searing, shoots through his body like a bullet, toppling him into the solid wall of his brother’s body. Michael clings to Lincoln’s shoulders and doesn’t try to fight the instinct to surrender to the man completely.

He had missed his brother, desperately. Even when Michael refused his calls and delved as deep as he could into comfortable monotony. Because as much as Michael runs and fights and ignores the truth, he knows deep down that neither of them can separate from this. No matter what worlds Michael creates to put them both in. They're two pieces of the same very damaged person and the clarity of Michael’s thoughts when Lincoln is absent cannot be a decent sacrifice for the constant ache in his chest.

Lincoln’s all over him, taking his fill. Hands recklessly move down his back, drag over his shirt to the waistband of his pants. Michael gasps when Lincoln runs his fingers over his ass and pulls them so tight together that he can feel the hard column of Lincoln’s cock as if there are no clothes separating them. His brother teases the roof of his mouth with his tongue and Michael moans and responds eagerly in kind. Lincoln does taste like coffee, rich and dark.

He can feel Lincoln grow harder against his hip and knows that after they both finish their work in a few hours his brother will knock on his door and they’ll do this again – sans clothing.

And maybe this was what he wanted to happen, somewhere in his vaulted mind, when he pursued Lincoln today. Maybe this was the only result when his bulldog of a brother decided enough was enough.

Two so different yet one and the same, Michael thinks. When they’re like this, they make a new world of their own.

“Tonight?” Lincoln asks once he finally retreats for air. His voice is merely a rasp, all wrapped up in lust.

Michael can’t help but rub himself, just once, on Lincoln’s thick thigh. He scrapes his fingernails over his brother’s scalp and sighs, “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Lincoln doesn’t wait for another response and swallows Michael up again.

Michael’s drowning in the tide and hanging tight to his only salvation. He dares to call this feeling, this peace, love but he wonders if that’s only because he doesn’t really know anything else. Lincoln’s touch; that’s all he knows. All he’s ever really wanted.

Both men force themselves to slow down, aware that they can’t take their reunion beyond kisses and an embrace that for the moment will end with both of them unfulfilled. Michael’s thoughts are already racing ahead to hours later, days and months of a future with this secret indulgence. He looks forward to and fears it in kind.

And though the thought makes him sick to his stomach, in the next second he thinks it anyway because he’s a practical man of numbers and schematics and he knows his brother better than anyone else.

He knows that anything this devastating has to end.

So he thinks, while Lincoln drinks from his mouth like a man in the desert, and waits for the pang in his chest that doesn’t disappoint: How will his world bear the day they finally have to part?

END


End file.
